


Profound Bond Drabbles

by kazshero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Profound100 Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazshero/pseuds/kazshero
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on the weekly prompt on Profound Bond's Discord.(Come join us.)





	1. January Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> January: Storm, Bunny, Fire, Coffee, Dolphin  
> February: Letters, Roses, Folklore, Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January: Storm, Bunny, Fire, Coffee, Dolphin

Castiel had very mixed feelings on storms.  
There was something about the power, the beauty, but on top of all that, the frustration a storm brought. The strong wind and rain had him trapped in this cabin. It had then succeeded in bringing down a nearby power-line, leaving the small, isolated dwelling dark and cold.  
At least he was not here alone. Dean was with him.  
Speaking of power, beauty, and frustration.  
The lightning provided flashes of the most stunning sight of Dean’s euphoric face. But the thunder… The maddening thunder drowned out the desired sound of his love’s moans.  


 

 

“The only references I can find are to parts being used in spells, rabbit’s foot, rabbit ears, and so on,” Sam leans back in his chair, sighing tiredly. There are books spread all around him on the library table.  
“I don’t believe that’s helpful,” Castiel scolds as he covers the ears of the bunny perched in front of him.  
“Sorry!” Sam’s puppy dog eyes flick to both of them, chastened.  
The ears quiver slightly under his palms. Castiel instinctively strokes, and his gentle actions seem to ease the trembling.  
“Don’t worry Dean. We’ll find the cure.” Castiel assures his friend.  


 

 

The flames flicker and dance merrily around the marshmallow. Dean waits until it’s just the right shade of brown, a colour similar to Cas’ last trenchcoat he reflects, before he finishes preparing the smore and holds it out to Cas eagerly.  
“Try it.”  
Camping is the latest experience he felt he should show the newly human Cas. Although Dean had remembered two man tents being bigger, smores are still as tasty.  
“It’s… awesome.”  
Dean can’t help but grin at the word choice, and Cas beams back. Dean feels his cheeks warm. He must be sitting too close to the fire.  


 

 

He knows him ten years.  
He knows the little things and the big things.  
He knows his favourite beer.  
He knows how he takes his coffee; strong, black and in copious quantity.  
He knows how he protective he is, of Jack and of Sam, and him.  
He knows how he throws his whole self into doing things, be it trying to do God’s job or being human.  
So he knows now that Cas will never leave, will always stay, that this is his choice and his home.  
He knows that this is it for him.  
“I love you too, Cas.”  


 

 

“You can speak hundreds of human languages but you struggle to talk dirty.” Dean teases. He refuses to call this pillow talk but he has to admit it’s nice lying here with Cas.  
“I also speak Dolphin.”  
“Are you serious?” Dean grins.  
Cas whistles a short tone and Dean just can’t contain his laughter. Cas smiles and whistles again, a little longer, his arms tightening around Dean.  
“Dork! What did you say?”  
“First I said ‘Of course’, then I said ‘ready for round two?’” Cas winks.  
“This is really not what I meant by dirty talk.”  
But he obliges anyway.  



	2. February Prompts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February: Letters (2 the first was angsty and I wanted sweet), Roses, Folklore, Danger

The first letter took sixty-four drafts to get right and it was only two paragraphs long.  
It took him six weeks to attempt a second, but when he did it flowed much smoother and spanned several pages.  
The ninth and tenth letters he wrote a day apart, a smile on his face.  
The seventeenth was slightly damp and only three words long.  
They all remained sealed in the drawer beside his bed, alongside a box with a ring made from a molten angel blade. There was no one left to receive them. Words left unspoken, unheard, unread but still felt.

 

“What’s that you’re drawing?” Dean exhales into his pillow. Cas’s hand doesn’t pause its movements along his bare back. The sheets are only ruched up to their waists.  
“Technically I’m writing, they’re letters not pictures. Enochian.” A finger dips low along his spine, sending tingles racing up it.  
“Oh. Is it a spell? Trying to decrease my refraction time?” He lifts his head and winks at Cas over his shoulder.  
“More like a prayer. Words of protection, words of love. Nothing magical, just hopes.” Cas smirks.  
“Well I definitely feel it’s worked some magic.” Dean flips over, pulling Cas in.

 

Dean didn’t know what to expect but he hadn’t expected laughter.  
“I know we're not the most romantic…” He rubbed his neck self-consciously.  
Cas sobered up quickly and kissed Dean.  
“No Dean, that’s not it. You’re wonderful and my answer is of course yes”. Dean gazed back in relief at the bed he’d adorned with roses spelling out ‘Marry me?’  
“Then what’s so funny?” Dean did not pout.  
“Come with me.” Cas tugged Dean towards the garage.  
When Dean saw the Impala surrounded by beer bottles spelling ‘Marry me?’ he laughed loudly.  
“That’s definitely my kind of romance!” Dean crowed.

 

In the heart of America, down back country roads, there are many urban legends. Stories of vampires and ghosts, of werewolves and wendigos, of witches and tricksters. Folklore that carries messages of caution or lessons in morality.  
One myth tells of an angel that fell for a human, learning choice and free will.  
They say the human fell for the angel, learning faith and hope.  
Together, they learned about family, and the power of love.  
The legend is old and the names of the angel and human are lost to time, but the tale itself is still known as Destiel.

 

“No Cas! It’s too dangerous.” Dean grits out.  
“Danger is my middle name,” Castiel quips, trying to emulate Dean’s cockiness.  
He knows he succeeds when Dean laughs, his hand running down his face muffling the sound. “I’m a terrible influence. You don’t have a middle name. You don’t even have a last name.”  
“You are a good influence Dean, and yes I do.” Castiel looks Dean in the eyes. “I’m a Winchester.”  
Dean doesn’t look away so Castiel sees the myriad of emotions Dean goes through before he suddenly finds himself pulled forward into a fierce kiss.  
“Yeah, you are.”


End file.
